Coming up from behind
by Crabnipple
Summary: Behind closed doors the daughters of Janus fight over a bone that they can never wittle down. (In progress)
1. One mississippi

1.

A carry-over from mortal life, the stiff, blonde woman still got head aches. Often they escalated to such intensity that the only way to seek relief was to turn the lights off and shut herself in the bathroom.

Not that it was anything new for her, but Therese was agitated, although she couldn't figure out why.

She rubbed her temples, another reflex carried over from sunlight days. Being that her body was still quite dead, massage or the like did no real good. Only willing her sludgy, eldritch blood to seek out the source of the throbbing pain would eliminate it.

"Oh, I'm just overwhelmed. As usual..."

Yes, that was it. She was stressed. That was why she felt so out of sorts. And with all the chaos that had ensued in the last few days, why wouldn't she be?

Moths fluttered outside her window. She thought they were disgusting creatures, and stupid as well. In her opinion, these little insects resembled the mortal masses. Blindly throwing themselves toward oblivion, completely unwilling to learn from their mistakes, vulgar in appearance and short lived.

Jeanette cooed over the moths. She identified them as "my little friends."

Therese wanted to kill them all with the bug spray she kept nearby in case another roach infestation manifested in her bathroom(which had been looking quite dingy as of late, if you asked her). But Jeanette would throw a bitch fit and cry and make her out to be a cold, heartless bitch, so the sharply dressed woman conceded to let them carry on their frenzied, aimless existence.

_Not such a big deal_, she supposed. _They're just little insects. __But __why do they bother me so?_

"Shit."

Covering her mouth, the self consciousness that had been engendered within her by father, by her schoolteacher; it dissaproved of any cursing. She made a mental note to watch her mouth. Nasty words were for nasty people, after all. No need to make mention of excrement when one was perturbed.

"LaCroix Foundation" popped up on caller id. But to her disappointment and, curiously, her relief, the number was not the new prince's but some representative's.

"Therese Voerhman speaking."

"Yes, Ms. Voerhman, I hope you're well. This is Sascha speaking. Hopefully you remember me from when we last spoke, yes?"

"Thank you, yes, of course I remember speaking with you last Thursday night."

"Wonderful. Ms. Voerhman, I'm calling on behalf of Mr. LaCroix. He wanted to inform you that the meeting that had been scheduled between the two of you on Friday the 23rd at 9:30 PM must be canceled. He gives his apologies."

"Very well, thank you for informing me of this well in advance, Sascha. Give my regards to the Prince."

"You're welcome Ms. Voerhman. Have good night."

"Good night, Sascha."

This was the second time he had canceled. How the hell was she supposed to get anything done if the Prince wouldn't even conduct a brief meeting with her?

Collapsing into her favorite teak chair, she felt on this verge of tears. Did he not take her seriously? What could she have possibly done to put him off so?

"Jeanette..."

Of course her sister's reckless behavior didn't help merely by association. They both ran the club and they both played an influential part in the Santa Monica scene. As baron of a relatively quiet, desolate city, surely her inability to even hold the reins on her own sister would detract from her standing on a professional level.

Father watched over her from above, as always. Or he "loomed" over her, as Jeanette would quip. But Therese felt his sombre gaze to be a comfort. When Jeanette suggest that the painting be replaced with "something more cheerful", Therese struck her in explosion of temper. This sort of behavior was out of place for Therese, and it shocked her. Thereafter for at least a week, her sister refused to speak.

"Oh father, Jeanette ruins everything for me! They say that we carry an ancient curse in our veins, but I believe that it pales in comparison to the plague I call my sister!"

Streaks of white impaired her vision. This always happened when the migraines got really bad.

_This one is very painful..._

"Ugh...I just need to calm down...need time to think about what I'm going to do.

Locking herself in the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes and lit a single candle in the dark.


	2. Two Mississippi

"Of course I understand, my blondness, my fair child of the morning...Yes, with a little luck, your sister may join the two of us in the endless night."

There were few kindred in San Francisco at the time, though they did their damndest to hold sway over every funhouse, brothel and saloon from downtown all the way to Sacramento. Joseph Cheerling was one of those people. As much of a dandy as any rich man could be, he owned several brothel-inns south of Market street but no one would have guessed by the looks of him that he was stark raving mad as a rabid cur stuck in the rain.

"Darling Therese...when can you bring, ah...rather, when can _Jeanette _come forward for me, mmmmn? If I'm to ask the Prince for permission to sire.._.again_...mmmnnn haha haaaaahhh..."

Doing only what she figured best in moments such as these when her sire took a moment to laugh at his private jokes, young, slender Therese kept silent.

"Mnnnn...he heh heh heehhhhh...yes...that was a good one...mnnnn mmmnn mnnnnnn..."

Flourishing a hanky dappled with rust, the stone cold dandy patted invisible sweat off his brow.

"As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself..."...I'll need to speak with her first."

Contempt was an emotion that Therese knew how to hide well. Never quite comfortable meeting the penetrating gaze that was the trade-mark of her wild eyed sire, the young woman bowed her head in what hoped was taken by him as a gesture of respect.

_Does he know? Do those damned "voices" shout in his ear how I loathe him? How I can't wait to be free of this insane peddler of filth?_

"I can go get her any time, sir. But if I may say so, Jeanette would be fully aware of the weight that such a respons-"

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU WHAT YOU **_THINK_**!"

Now that hurt. But the swelling would abate completely within moments. Damming ever more the well of tears that threatened to burst forth since her last sunrise, Therese told herself that none of this mattered so long as her sister would join her in the end. She would endure what she must, if only for Jeanette's sake.

"Oh my...sweet, sweet thing..."

Much too clammy to belong to some living thing, powdery, dry fingertips caressed the faintest red imprint of a hand that sprung forth on a swelling bank of porcelain flesh that, though it may tear and bruise as easily as any pale, ripe fruit, would also .

"I _really_ didn't want to strike you, don't you see? But you _simply musn't_ interrupt Master..." crooned the lilting, mustached man wearing a velvet suit of the deepest burgundy.

Therese nodded diligently. Her sire grasped her firmly by the chin, forcing their eyes ro meet.

"Now then," he boomed quite seriously. The abruptness with which his tone of voice transitioned would have been comical if not for the flinty, brittle hot irons that burned from behind his too-tiny pupils. There was meanness there. There was intent to harm, to murder, to eat.

One greasy, auburn curl flopped forward in his eye. He let it be, as if challenging his child, as if to say,"**_ Go ahead, kid! Laugh! Laugh at your sire. They all say he's a batshit crazy and a joke to boot. Lose your composure so that the owner of this dark red mop of hair can find an excuse to clobber you...because it's so easy for me to find excuses, at any rate..._**_"_

"If you could bring Jeanette forward _right now,_ I'd be most pleased. Mmmkay, darlin' ?"


End file.
